


Amavimus

by chantefable



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Catullus Poetry, Extra Treat, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Lady Stone, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supernatural Elements, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: Hilarion deals with the aftermath, grieves for Lucius, and receives guidance from a goddess.





	Amavimus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_timmings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_timmings/gifts).



I have lost you, my brother  
and your death has ended  
the spring season  
of my happiness,  
our house is buried with you  
& buried the laughter that you taught me.  
There are no thoughts of love nor of poems  
in my head  
since you died.

Catullus 68

***

  
Watching the wind carve the waters into cresting waves, Hilarion leaned against the shabby wall of a small hut. The wharf was bustling with activity, traders calling out and clanking their pots and bowls, women hurrying with baskets full of fish and wilting greens, children scurrying underfoot. Portus Itius was a busy place, loud with the mingling sounds of Atrebates and Morini speech, stitched together with all kinds of accented Latin. It was vibrant and alive.

It was not home.

Like all things in life, from watered wine to dancing to barley rations, Belgica must be an acquired taste, but Hilarion did not feel ready yet.

The worries of his new position and the daily troubles of training the Attacotti took up most his time, and he had no time for woes. Spring was upon them, and with it a new fort and a new life, but Hilarion no longer had time for smiles, or songs, or games.

He had no time to grieve.

The beguiling sight of the waves licking at the curve of the shore lulled him, and for a short while, his heart did not stammer. The white foam and bright sparkle of sun beams hitting the water turned into the White Shields of Erin, changing and going further, choosing Frontier Scouts over slavery. The deep blue edge and dark underside of each rising wave drew him in with a promise of quiet comfort. 

Strange how the sea could be so shining, and yet so black.

The blackness was familiar, almost gentle; the worshipped blackness of the Lady Stone and of queer nights in the month of Janus.

Almost against his will, Hilarion felt his body relax, the tension seeping out of him gradually, until the fisherman's hut was the only thing propping him up. The waves came and went, as certain as time itself... Days irrevocably bled into nights, and nights were dispelled by new days. The waves broke down against the pebbles and were swallowed by the sand. New waves took their place.

No one was irreplaceable.

The blackness called to him, each wave like a gaping maw, so distant and so close. Like danger, and death, and luck, the blackness showed itself and hid away. A gaggle of girls hurried by, singing a song in the language of the Eburones, and Hilarion could not make any sense of it, even though the shape and sound of the words seemed eerily familiar. 

Just like his life: a familiar mold, yet altered beyond recognition.

He shivered, and wished he would be warmed again, even by a burial fire.

It was spring season now, but Hilarion still smelled winter in the air, crisp grass and frosted briar; the rising waves turned into steep slopes before his gaze, and the ships vanished in the distance. It was the river crossing, hurrying to meet him, and the Lady Stone pieced itself together from a thousand shards brought by the waves.

He would kiss it, caress it, and beg it for luck. He regretted a thousand little oaths he had made, every scrap of fortune he had begged of it. Every game of dice and latrunculi, every girl's heart he had won. He regretted leeching luck off it, and taking more than was his due. 

Would that it had favoured him less, and others more. If only Lucius could be standing beside him now, a darling friend, holding his hand and murmuring Virgil under his breath.

If only --

But the Lady smiled at him again, implacable, and bid Hilarion farewell. The goddess returned to her true dwelling beyond the sea, and the waves rolled smoothly to kiss the shore and wash away the green rot, leaving nothing but clean sand and bare pebbles.

And then Hilarion could not afford to loiter any longer. The day was short, and he still had to make further arrangements for provisions before they headed out of town. Time was precious and could not be wasted.

He roused himself and walked off, determined not to squander the gift he had been given.

**Author's Note:**

> amāvimus, first-person plural perfect active indicative of amō: we have loved, we have been fond of
> 
> Catullus 68: a complex elegy by Catullus (c. 84 – 54? BC), a fragment is quoted in the Peter Whigham translation (1966)
> 
> Portus Itius (Itius Portus): Roman name for a port somewhere in the modern Nord-Pas-de-Calais region
> 
> Atrebates, Morini and Eburones: tribes in Belgica


End file.
